


got back the stars in my eyes, too

by Meridas



Series: won't be alone again [3]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fix-It, Gen, Platonic Soulmates, Yasha & Molly's Soft Road Trip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-25
Updated: 2019-04-25
Packaged: 2020-01-31 20:02:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18598417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meridas/pseuds/Meridas
Summary: Molly looks a little pale, a little thin, and very tired, but he is her Molly and he has a smile that’s always been just for her. She wraps her arms around his waist and pulls him in close, and she finally feels okay again when his arms wrap around her in return. She can feel the kiss he drops on the top of her head, just like always, and she’shome.Wherever they go, they’ll go together.





	got back the stars in my eyes, too

**Author's Note:**

> Still working on the M9 reunion in this 'verse, but I felt like these two also just deserved some downtime to heal together on their own.
> 
> Thank you Eileen for beta-ing! <3

Molly is a little bit quiet once they part ways the members of Vox Machina. He leans into her, which isn't at all unusual—he’s always been tactile, has cuddled into her at any opportunity ever since she first started letting him. But the small shake in his hands, the fleeting life of his smiles, the way he presses against her like he’s afraid she’ll vanish… she’s worried about him.

Yasha doesn’t say anything until they’re safe, though, settled at an inn all the way back in Deastock. Druidic travel is… certainly an experience, but Molly seemed thrilled by the way Keyleth’s magic opened a tree into a glowing portal, and that is the only thing Yasha cares about right now. Taryon had graciously offered to pay to put them up, saying that he did so for all of his “Brigadiers.” Yasha isn’t really sure she counts as that, but she wasn’t about to turn down a free stay at a nice inn.

All of her money shattered into diamond dust this morning, anyway. Everything she has of value is right here, pressed underneath her arm and blinking sleepily around the inside of their room.

For the first time in months, she’s in no rush. She takes her time poking about the room, settling down and unpacking a bit. Normally she keeps everything packed tight and ready to go in a second, but right now she wants a feeling of security. Permanence.

She settles down on the bed and scoots back against the headboard. “Molly,” she says, and his name is such a relief every time she gets to say it and see him respond to her. She wiggles her hairbrush in the air, and he grins at her and comes over.

They used to do this all the time, back with the traveling carnival. Sometimes Yasha misses those days. But mostly, she missed them when Molly was gone—mostly, she missed Molly. It soothes something deep in her soul when he joins her on the bed and crosses his legs under him, his back turned to her in a familiar little ritual.

Very gently, taking her time, Yasha starts to work out the tangles and knots in Molly’s hair. It’s pretty dirty, and he’ll need a bath in the morning. But for now it’s good enough, as Yasha works through it first with her fingers, then with the hairbrush.

Halfway through, she goes ahead and breaks the quiet. “Molly,” she asks gently, “are you feeling alright? You know, it’s okay if you’re not.”

His shoulder rise and fall with a deep sigh. He pats her knee, and his tail winds around her waist in such a casual, familiar touch that she almost weeps. “I think so,” he says. His fingers find a little hole in her pants and toy with the fringes. “I’m _so tired_ , Yash, but I don’t want to go to sleep. And I’m pretty cold, but I know it’s not cold in here. I don’t know why.”

Yasha hums softly. She keeps her movements slow and steady, working the brush through his hair, careful around the base of his horns. Molly squeezes her knee again. “I’ll be okay,” he promises, and now she can hear a little smile in his voice. “I’ve got you, yeah? I’m here. I think it’s safe to say I’m gonna be fine.”

He turns around, and Yasha lets the brush fall to the side. Molly looks a little pale, a little thin, and very tired, but he is her Molly and he has a smile that’s always been just for her. She wraps her arms around his waist and pulls him in close, and she finally feels okay again when his arms wrap around her in return. She can feel the kiss he drops on the top of her head, just like always, and she’s _home_.

She squishes gently around his waist, then lets him go. “You do look tired,” she says. “Maybe you’d better get your beauty sleep.” She brushes his hair away from his forehead, then slowly disentangles herself. “I’ll keep watch.”

“Don’t stay up too late, dear,” Molly murmurs, tucking himself into the second bed. Yasha settles herself down, and watches the moonlight that spills across the room. She watches Molly’s back rise and fall.

* * *

She wakes up in the middle of the night. The room is quiet around her, and for a moment her body goes ice-cold in fear that this was a dream, that she's still failing Molly and she's still alone and only her mind and her broken heart had brought him back to her. Then she heard a soft, hitching breath from the window, and she sits up.

“Molly?” she calls softly, her heart still racing.

He jumps a little, limned in moonlight. She can see the way he swipes his arm across his face, though. “Sorry,” he mutters, and his voice might sound steady to someone who isn’t her. “Didn’t mean to wake you up.”

In the faint moonlight, she can see Molly’s nails digging crescents into his arms, and she can see how even that pressure doesn’t make his trembling stop. “I didn’t think I’d get another shot,” he blurts out, and he gives a high, shaky laugh that takes her right back to grey dawns at the circus, to a stairwell under the Evening Nip, to that room in Zadash that reeked of a truth spell, all the times she’s been able to come back to Molly just when he needed to see her. “I, heh, I didn’t really go out thinking that—that I’d meant that that much. Not enough to try crazy shit like—like anything that could bring me _back_ , and with all the shit _he_ did, and—”

“Molly,” Yasha cuts him off firmly. She cups his face in her hands and turns him toward her. “I was _never_ going to leave you behind,” she says. “Hey. You know I love you. I _missed_ you.” She missed him like she would miss rain, or color, or a breeze on her face. She missed him the way she would miss freedom. Losing Zuala left an irreparable crack deep in Yasha’s heart, and losing Molly gutted out a cavern in her soul. She doesn’t know how to say these things to him; she doesn’t know how her words can make it so that he understands that she _needed_ him back. That she’s sorry it took her so long. That she would have pushed so much further if she had failed.

She doesn’t know how to say that. All she can do is squish Molly’s face a little, in the gentle way that has always made him smile, and hope that he can read her soul between its cracks as easily as he always has before. “You’re where I belong, Molly. I am never going to go too far from you.”

The tears finally spill over and drop between her fingers, diamond-bright in the moonlight. But he smiles for her, too: a trembling, close-lipped little thing that is still more precious than gold. He gets it. He knows her down to her patched-up soul, and he gets what she's trying to say. Yasha pulls him close and lets him bury his face in her shawl and sob until he feels better. Yesterday he'd been a good sport as she cried all over his hair. This is just one of the things that they do for each other, and she's so happy she has the chance take her turn again.

Neither of them have ever been good at platitudes, but silence is never just silence with them, either. It's moments like this, filled with heartbeats and calm motions and bone-deep awareness of another body, that fill in the conversation for them. Molly's arms tight around her waist tell her more than a hundred words could. Yasha strokes evenly up and down his spine, and the soft shush of his shirt is a thousand lesser words. Their breathing evens out together, in a deeper understanding than Yasha has ever achieved with her voice alone.

They don't bother to sleep apart, this time. Yasha pulls back the blankets and lays down, and Molly curls up against her without a sound. In the darkness, she finds his hand again, and laces their fingers together.

“Love you too,” he whispers, and it's a nice sound to settle in with the feeling that she already knew.

* * *

Molly’s exhaustion persists for several days. Yasha bundles him up in warm clothes and they go sit outside, enjoying the weak wintery sunshine like it’s the sun-drenched shores of the Menagerie Coast. She fetches hot chocolate and spiced cider and more blankets, anything she can think of until Molly catches her by the wrist and tugs her down beside him.

“Hey,” he says, curling into her side. “Sit with me for a minute, Yash. I’ve got all I need right here.”

She calms down after that. She watches the color come back to Molly’s face and the trembling leave his fingers, slowly but surely.

They only discuss the Mighty Nein once, the day Molly wakes up and assures her that he feels good as new. Yasha doesn’t know what to say, really. She doesn’t want to recount the argument they had when she left. Molly doesn’t press her. He takes her word that they were alive and safe last she saw them, and that’s that.

“I’m sure our paths will cross again eventually,” he says, and if she weren’t so selfish she might try harder. But she _is_ selfish when it comes to Molly. She wants to savor the time together now that she has him back, now that she has the chance to cherish their friendship again.

“I have some things I need to get to,” she suggests. “Um. Things I’ve put off, recently. You could come with me.”

Molly’s tail flicks up in surprise. “You sure that’s alright with… you know, your…?”

She nods firmly. “I think maybe I could use your help,” she admits. “And… he hasn’t told me it’s _not_ okay. So.” She leans over and knocks her shoulder gently against his. “You know, you’re the one who told me it’s better to ask forgiveness than permission.”

Molly cackles at that, bright and sharp in the morning light. He knocks her shoulder back, then squirms under her arm and stays there. She squeezes him gently, already smiling.

Wherever they go, they’ll go together.

* * *

Their travel is leisurely to say the least. The two of them stay ahead of the weather when it turns cold, but they don’t let anything rush them. They bounce between small towns, crossroads, waystations, anything. Yasha practices tossing Molly into the air and catching him when he flips and comes back down. Molly gets back into fighting shape as they spar and tussle.

She follows the Storm Lord’s instructions to a small town in the mountains. There is a lightning-struck tree there, and a people who have worshipped him in secret for generations. Yasha learns much from their elders, and from their fighters. Molly entrances the small children there. He might fall into bed with a local who carves jewelry from the living rock around them, while Yasha attends an overnight vigil with the other followers of Kord. She doesn’t ask, and the next night he curls up with his back against her chest once more.

She still has nightmares, but she’s no longer alone when they wake her up. She wakes, heart pounding, to the very faint red glow of Molly’s eyes in the darkness.

Molly doesn’t ask any questions. He twists around, wiggling until Yasha turns onto her back and he can flop across her torso like a lizard sunning on a rock. He doesn’t weight very much, but it’s comforting. “I’m with you,” he mumbles, already sounding half-asleep. “Go back to sleep. ‘M here.”

Yasha is used to being cold, on her own and following storms the way she does. With Molly’s warm, gangly body draped over her, she drifts off again easily.

The Storm Lord is quiet. He’s given Yasha a lot to think about. They move on.

* * *

Spring starts to show its first traces again.

Molly takes Yasha’s hand and wanders off the road until they stumble across a clearing in the trees. Yasha sits down in the tall, damp grass and tips her face up to the crisp blue sky. Molly brings a handful of flowers back, little bursts of white and blue.

She presses a few of them between the pages of her book. Molly’s deft fingers comb through her hair, picking out the worst snarls, redoing her braids with a few flowers woven in. It makes her think of Nott, how she insists that they have protection magic.

She finds some golden-yellow flowers, and tugs Molly around into her lap when his hands pause. Yasha hasn’t really noticed until now that his hair has grown longer, but of course it has. Impulsively, she wraps one arm around his waist and hugs him tightly.

Molly pats her hand. “Doing alright, dear?”

“Yeah, I’m good.” Yasha releases him, lets him take a comfortable seat in front of her. She winds her fingers into his hair, gently separating the curls so that she can begin braiding in the golden flowers. “We’re good.”

**Author's Note:**

> Will I ever get over my feelings about Molly and Yasha's friendship? Signs point to no.
> 
> title comes from Rainbow by Kesha!


End file.
